


Advertising Causes Need

by kurushi



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Homophobia, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Male Homosociality, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Romance, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-19
Updated: 2010-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:28:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurushi/pseuds/kurushi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After 3.01, Nathan Explosion begins to feel detached and upset about the events surrounding Offdensen's disappearance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to the Brutal Business LJ comm as part of 2010's NCmonth.

When Charles Ofdensen walked through the door, came back from the fucking dead, took charge again, it felt just as unreal as the declaration of his death had. A wave of dissociation had swept over Nathan, leaving his mind fuzzy and blank and confused. Nothing felt wrong at all, so everything was wrong. When people disappeared and reappeared like that, you were supposed to feel _something_. Pain, agony, elation, surprise, _anything_! Hearts were supposed to stop, and breaths were supposed to catch in throats.

 

But Nathan's heart had beat. The blister in his boots still ached when he put his weight on it. Everyone still ate sandwiches and when he'd woken up in the morning, he'd been half-erect and needing to piss like nothing else. It took time to wake up, to expel what he needed to, to flush and brush and pull on jeans that smelt less bad than yesterday's pair.

 

Life went on. Shows and booze and groupies and sex and bills and life went on. It was wrong. It was impossible. How the crap was anyone supposed to learn to cope with their grief and pain, if the world was full of entirely mundane normal things? The world kept moving, and when Ofdensen had finally walked through that door, the world should have stopped moving. Time should have paused, to let the impact of his return sink in properly. So that Nathan could have said something worthwhile and important. Instead, he'd been ushered onstage, and they'd driven home. Ofdensen had blown it all off as something they were better off not knowing, and life had kept moving. They'd drunk until they couldn't move. Until they were bent over retching (or in Murderface's case lying foetal and just emitting vileness). Then, one by one, like any other night, they cleaned themselves up and crawled into their beds.

 

After the familiar staggering down the hallway to the dining room, since there was no way Nathan could face the garish living room with his hangover, there was a usual meal. An entirely expectable run-down of the business and a robot-like cajoling of the band to write more, practice more, and drink slightly less. The return of Ofdensen was almost unnoticable. Nobody else seemed to notice, either. Though Toki did try to hug Ofdensen on his way out of the room. Nathan hung his head lower, and let his hair fall forwards to shield his eyes from what light there was in the room. It was all too fucking normal, and he hated it. Hated Toki, hated everyone on the room. Hated Ofdensen more, for not stopping and just    
_talking_   
or    
_being_   
before he had started organising and managing again.

 

It didn't feel right at all. It churned in his stomach until he had to stand and run from the room. Making it to the nearest bathroom just in time, Nathan heaved what breakfast he had swallowed back up. Bile burnt the back of his throat, and pressure built up in his head. His eyes burned, and once he had recovered enough to wash his face in the sink, they looked puffy and reddish in the mirror. His irises were a vivid and bright violent colour. They always got that way when he cried, and the sight of them alone had him clenching his fists at his sides.

 

He'd have to brush his teeth, rinse the taste away. Eat some food, and get on with the day. Ofdensen was probably on the verge of making appointments with sponsors, vendors, art designers for the cover of the album that they hadn't made yet. Always ten fucking steps ahead, when Nathan felt a hundred more left behind.

 

Oh fuck it, he was going back to bed, and screw the world. Nathan wasn't ready to let his world recover from the loss of Ofdensen, even if the arsehole had already come back.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't until a few weeks later that Nathan could catch up to himself. The surreal feeling of disbelief and detachedness slowly faded, and though he never felt really himself, he was together enough to start translating the entirely harrowing and brutal things he'd felt since the declaration of Ofdensen's death into half-formed attempts at lyrics. He had a few concepts for the music as well, but he was pretty sure that Skwisgaar would bulldoze right over that and come up with something faster and harder still.

 

But it was never as simple as that, of course. After all the bullshit he'd worried about, after his frustration that life was continuing despite everything that had happened, now he was facing something that seemed to be designed just for the purpose of giving him the shits. He wasn't enjoying sex anymore. When he hadn't wanted to be able to push on with his life, he'd been fine. And now that he was feeling okay about that? He couldn't.

 

It wasn't that he couldn't get it up, because he could. Or that he couldn't keep it up, or fuck the groupie bitches so hard that their tits bruised from the friction, because he could. It wasn't even that he didn't come in thick, potent spurts. It was that it felt as empty and pointless and boring in retrospect as spending an afternoon watching Murderface record the same bass track over and over again. It was so meaningless and repetitive that half the time, Nathan wanted to just pull out, send the women off to wherever the fuck groupies went between the shows, and think about anything other than sex until he was relaxed enough to just fall asleep.

 

He began to just, well,  _not_ have women in his bedroom. It didn't fix anything, but at least it made him feel like punching the walls in anger a little less. He should be focusing on writing, anyway. On getting the band into the studio. It was a drag, but they really did need to work on the new album, after all. He said as much the next day, when they all happened to be lazing around in the blissfully un-re-decorated living room. Nobody had really replied with anything other than a shrug, but Ofdensen had given Nathan a very strange look from across the room and made a note in his organiser.

 

“Hey, what are you doing in here, anyway? Don't you usually work in your, you know, office?”

 

Ofdensen had nodded sharply and met Nathan's eyes without a moment's hesitation. “I just thought perhaps it might be easier for you boys to absorb some of the skills you might need, if...”

 

Nathan didn't wait till the end of the sentence. He wished he hadn't fucking asked, the answer was so obvious and stupid. He stood and stomped to the door as heavily as he could, boots loud on the stone floor. He almost made it to the intersection that led to his room, when he noticed the lighter and faster sound of Ofdensen's footsteps. The man was the only person in this section of the Mordhaus who didn't wear steel-capped boots (and didn't smell like Murderface).

 

Not wanting to look like he was having a childish tantrum, Nathan stopped and turned, ready to face down anything. Pre-empting Ofdensen, whose mouth was already open to say something, Nathan found himself shouting. He had only meant to say it, but his emotions just forced the volume out of his lungs.

 

“You aren't expendable, fuck-face. Got that?!”

 

To his credit, Ofdensen didn't flinch at all. He simply stood there, regarding Nathan with a blank face. Without missing a beat, he replied calmly. “Well I'm very glad that you ca... ah, recognise all that I do for Dethklok. I feel very valued. But my importance to the band's equilibrium and finances makes me all the more vulnerable to attacks like the one that we faced... Nathan, are you listening?”

 

As Ofdensen had kept speaking, Nathan's fingernails had begun digging into his palms. His muscles were clenched with restrained anger. He couldn't put the right words to how wrong Ofdensen seemed to be getting it. Couldn't he just understand that... that... fuck!

 

“You just don't fucking... shit! God, crap, whatever, I just... seeya. I gotta go.”

 

Nathan gave up and turned to walk towards his rooms. He thought that he heard a voice, tired and faint, but he couldn't make out the words as he slammed a door behind himself.


	3. Chapter 3

The very next day, Nathan found himself being woken far earlier than anyone should ever be. There was a Kloketeer in his doorway, standing ready and silent. His phone was ringing. Taking one look at the screen and seeing Ofdensen's name, Nathan decided that the information could wait. There was probably some appointment or meeting he was supposed to show up to, but it all ended up being the same hideous shitty day. It didn't change what he'd have to do, either. Nathan shoved his hair over his shoulders, and locked himself in the bathroom. Washing his face slowly and drinking water, brushing his teeth as if he cared about that crap bought him a little more time to let his mind recover from sleep.

 

Sleeping poorly was pretty metal, and he never really went a few days without brutal nightmares, but in the last few weeks he'd been waking up feeling worse than ever. The dark circles around his eyes would probably show up even through the thick greasy makeup they used for performances. He sure as fuck wasn't going to think of any complete sentences for a while, let alone hear someone else saying them quickly and seriously. So the whatever-the-fuck it was could wait a little longer.

 

His phone began ringing again. Growling quietly so that he didn't hurt his own head, he shoved the bathroom door open and walked across the room again. It wasn't Ofdensen, though, but Toki. The optimistic shithead could wait, though. Nathan glared at the phone, and put it tidily away in a drawer before lumbering over to the doorway. If they had something important on, he'd have been told in advance. So it couldn't be that bad. And if Ofdensen was about to start scheduling last-minute important meetings at fucking...

 

“Hey, what time is it?”

 

The Kloketeer shifted in his stance, and spoke slowly and clearly. “Eight oh Five AM, sir.”

 

… at fucking eight in the fucking morning, then Nathan's foul smelling booze-stained shirt would sure as fuck show him.

 

“Right, thanks. Uh, so I had a thing? I can't remember, last night was, uh, yeah. Last night.”

 

“I am charged with escorting you, lord. Please follow this way.”

 

By the time they'd reached their destination, Nathan had woken up enough to recognise they were taking the route from his bedroom to the living area. He'd also begun regretting his vile stink, wishing he'd had a shower for his own sake, if nobody else's. All he could do was comb his fingers through hair that badly needed a wash, and hope that he didn't look as bad as he felt. As he walked into the room, the Kloketeer vanished, barely noticeable at all. Nathan was distracted in any case, by the entirely odd sight before him. All the members of his band were just... bumming around. Just like any other day, really. Except that it was before noon, and not one of them looked like he'd missed sleep.

 

Ofdensen was there, just like he'd been the other day, working from some papers in a black leather folder. As Nathan shambled over to a seat himself, things got weirder. Everyone moved a little closer in towards his chair. Murderface and Toki turned away from their gaming consoles.

 

“Good morning, Nathan. How are you?”

 

“Murmph. Fuck you.” For good measure, Nathan gave Ofdensen the finger and slouched back against the seat cushion.

 

“Well I'm glad that we didn't disturb you too much then. There's something we'd like to talk to you about.”

 

Nathan turned his head to take in the faces of his bandmates. Toki looked earnest and hopeful, Skwisgaar snooty and bored. Pickles looked uncomfortable, scratching at his forearm absently. Murderface looked like he was constipated. There was a sense of disease and trepidation there, and Nathan didn't like it one bit.

 

“Wait, is this...”

 

Ofdensen cleared his throat and straightened his glasses. “Nathan, this is an intervention. We've all noticed increased sobriety and – perhaps more worrying still – abstention from intercourse.”

 

Wait, what? “But... isn't that what you're always fucking telling me to do? I mean, the doctor said I'm almost due for another transplant, and...”

 

“And shit, dood! It's fucking creepy, alright?” Pickles leant forwards, letting his hands hang down beside his legs, looking very seriously concerned. “Not that I care about youse, of course, but if word gets out that our leadman has sworn off chicks, it could be bad for the band, y'know?”

 

Toki objected before Nathan had a chance to respond. “Oh heys! It's not like he's all the gay or anything. And what's wrongs with not having sexes all the time? I don't, and I'm-”

 

“Totally fuckeds up is what you are, Toki. And maybe a little gays, too.” Skwisgaar picked slowly at his guitar, a real sign that things were dire. “But that's not why we're here. This is an intervenctioning, like when we had to help that klown friends of yours.”

 

“A what?!” Nathan stood, voice rising. What he did with his own cock was his own fucking business. He turned back to Ofdensen, who was stoic and serious and nodding as if this whole fucking business made any sense at all.

 

“Nathan, what the boys are trying to say is that we've all noticed changes in your behaviour recently. Now we all have a vested interest in the, er, potency of our lead singer. Your rage and hate is what makes Dethklok the bestselling band that it is. We aren't going to force you to do anything you don't want to, but we would like for you to consider what we're about to propose. For the sake of the band.”

 

Now that was way too many words for a time of day like this. Nathan settled for glowering at the floor. Nobody said anything for a few minutes, and Skwisgaar's muffled plunkings on his guitar sped up, it seemed, for every second that passed.

 

“So we gotsch you a whore!” Murderface's bright statement cut into his ears. How... depressing. Here Nathan was, going through epic fatigue and apathy, real stuff you could write a song about. A dark, slow, broodingly epic song of torture, and they had decided to _help_ by hiring him a _whore_. As if he couldn't have a hundred groupies with just one email to a fansite. All wet and ready for him. But any one of the band alone wouldn't have ever bothered. This idea had to have come from the college graduate brain of a certain Charles F. Ofdensen, CFO. Nathan's stomach twisted sharply. Crap, hungry now, he supposed. Too tired to really feel it, but on his way to being truly awake for the day. Once he'd gotten over the weird sick feeling, eaten and had the energy to raise a hand above his shoulders, he'd strangle the whole motherfucking lot of them!

 

“Not a _whore_ , William. But thank you, yes. Nathan, I've contacted a sex therapist. I've taken measures to protect your privacy and dignity, which we can discuss later if you wish.”

 

“What... the fuck? I'm not going to fuck someone like Twinkletits. Even if she's a chick that'd be just... wrong.”

 

Ofdensen tapped his pen against his papers and smiled briefly. “You won't have sex with her Nathan, you'll just talk to her. If you're enjoying sex less, for example, she can help identify what other aspects of your life could be impacting on your experiences in the bedroom. If it's physical, she'll help us pinpoint what we can change to return you to your usual vitality. I refuse to speculate on what your exact problems might be, of course, but she'll only be talking and making suggestions to you. Actually, because of the contract, you won't be _able_ to do anything like that with her until she's left our services.”

 

More words from that last long speech made it through the ache in Nathan's head, but he was still pretty damned sure that he wasn't following the more important parts. So before Ofdensen could say anything else, before someone else in the room could say something about virility or being soft-cocked or gay, Nathan asked the only question that mattered.

 

“If I say 'yes' to one appointment right now, can I go back to bed? It is seriously way too fucking early for this shit.”


	4. Chapter 4

It had seemed a reasonable idea when he'd been aching and tired and sore and unable to follow the conversation properly. But after he'd had the time to shower and eat and recover from the horror of being awake, he could see it for what it had truly been. A motherfucking setup. The band had been involved, but probably only because they were just as tired and confused as Nathan was. It reeked of Ofdensen's usual interfering.

 

What the fuck was wrong, anyway? Ofdensen always bitched for them all to drink less, fuck less. Why was the first thought that arsehole had not ' _Gee, Nathan sure is behaving well this month'_ , but ' _Crap, something must be wrong with his dick AND his mind!'_

 

Ah, fuck it. He was just pissed and nervous about opening the door to the therapist's room and facing up to the session. Of course Ofdensen had thought Nathan had something wrong with his head, because anyone who began to comply with Ofdensen's suggestions willingly probably did have something wrong with their heads. Or dicks. Or, um, she-bits. Tits, yeah. Nathan couldn't really argue with logic like that. If he'd heard that Skwisgaar or Pickles was having this problem, he'd have probably played along with the bullshit intervention meeting himself. It wasn't about caring for the individual's mental state, after all. It was just really important that you weren't in a band with a complete pansy fruit.

 

But that didn't mean that Nathan had to like it. He'd have to leave a note somewhere very noticable for himself, so that he could memorise one very important thing: Never commit to anything before two PM. Or five, really. Yeah, five would be better. Just to be on the safe side. That gave him enough time to get over any headaches or hangovers. People tended to argue less when Nathan felt stable enough to scream without making himself sick.

 

Crap. He was standing outside the door, silent and looking like a tool. Steeling himself for a painful and long meeting. He paid people to pay other people to stop complete strangers from learning about his private life. It felt wrong, to be paying to expose himself and feel uncomfortable. Ah, shit. He pushed through the door before he let himself think of anything else.

 

“Ah, hello, Nathan. I'm Doctor Schreber. Please take a seat.”

 

He took a cautious look at her before he sat down. She was dressed in dark neutral colours, but he could tell from the cut of her hair and the makeup on her face that she was one of those happy normal people. She was about forty, he guessed, with that pilates-thin look. Slow and deceptive, and full of health supplement pills. His mother had done that stuff for a year once, and she'd been a vile angry bitch the whole time. It made him trust her less. Anyone who needed to bounce on a large synthetic ball like that every day, was totally fucked in the head.

 

“Uh, yeah.” He said when he realised she was looking back at him with a keen sharpness to her eyes. He settled into the empty chair opposite her own, and shifted uncomfortably. He wished this room had a desk, something to give him a little more space. The room felt too small and intimate, and -

 

“So I've been given access to your previous records, and I've talked to your friend, Mr. Ofdensen...”

 

“Lawyer. Employee. Whatever. That dickwit isn't my friend.”

 

“Right. Your dickwit lawyer employee, then, he...”

 

“He's not a dickwit!”

 

She smiled slightly, and nodded. “Sorry. Well, you know who I mean, anyway. I've spoken to him about his concerns...”

 

As soon as Nathan had opened his mouth to protest that Ofdensen had no fucking idea what he was on about, Dr. Schreber raised her hand and just kept talking.

 

“... and while from his perspective they might seem correct, it's time for me to ask for your take on things, and to set the record straight.”

 

She paused and smiled calmly at him. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, or if she was manipulating him. But she wanted to hear the real story, right?

 

“Sure, okay. I guess.”

 

“Great.” She bent to the side to pick up a clipboard and pen. There was nothing revealing at all in the gesture, no sensuality or sign that she was female at all. Nathan felt something loosen and relax inside him at that. He got the feeling from her body language alone that she wasn't going to be a threat, and his fear of the rabid yoga valkyries faded.

 

“So first I want to explain exactly what I'm here for, to make sure there's no misconceptions. Then I'd like to ask you some questions.”

 

She seemed to be waiting for him to answer, so he shrugged and tugged distractedly on a strand of his hair.

 

“Good. So I'm here as your sexual therapist. A lot of people – especially men in your age group and demographic – have barriers to fully enjoying sex that have very little to do with sex at all. It can involve a trigger or childhood memory that you aren't aware of, a traumatic event or big sudden change in your life, something physiological like diet or physical activity, or any combination of those. So we'll start by just talking about any changes in your sex life recently, and see if we can't find and resolve the problem.”

 

She gave him a moment to absorb all that, which he really was grateful for. The number of times that Ofdensen had just kept up that monotonous drone, well... it was a bigger number than he'd ever bother to think about. It made it way too hard to remember anything, when it all came in huge grey solid chunks of information.

 

Hmm. Maybe he should suggest that the financial reports were cut up into shorter sections, like verses and choruses. It would mean that at least half the band would pay attention, and it'd get Toki and Murderface more practice time, which was something Skwisgaar had been grumping about recently.

 

“Nathan?”

 

“Yeah? Oh, right. Sorry, yeah. Got it.”

 

“Wonderful. So the idea here isn't to push beyond what you're comfortable, ever. If I suggest anything you aren't happy with, or we touch on a subject you don't want to discuss, then I'd rather look at why it is putting you off than force you into it. Our goal is to help you, not cause you pain. It will rely on a trust of sorts. I'll be trusting you to let me know when I'm going too far, and you'll be trusting me to apply my skills appropriately. If you trust me, then I promise that I'll help you break through this slump. You'll not only be able to enjoy sex like you used to; you'll be having the best orgasms of your life.”

 

“Okay, that last bit was a little creepy coming from you. No, uh, offence.”

 

“None taken. You can take a while to think about this if you like. We can arrange to meet, say, next week?”

 

“No!” Nathan blinked at his own voice, and looked downwards, letting his hair block her from his view. “I mean, he told them all, used them all to trick me into this. If I back out now, I'll look like a real cunt. So I want to finish this as soon as I fucking can.”

 

She tapped her pen against her lips and then made a note on her paper. “Well, alright, then. Let's get started. I don't need to know explicit details if you're uncomfortable with that, but a general idea of any changes in your sexual experiences in the last few months would be useful. I'm sure that things have been weird in some way for a lot longer than the others have been noticing.”

 

Nathan shifted his legs, and wasn't sure how to answer. “Um, well, I'm not sure what you mean by that...”

 

“Alright. Well, I know about Rebecca from media exposure and your record here. Mr. Ofdensen mentioned that you never truly connected with her, but we've all had shallow and painful relationships in our past. I'm more interested in the women you began dating after then end of your relationship with her, and any other experiences you've had since then. Let's include intimate touching and kissing with that, not just penetrative sex.”

 

“Uh, alright.” Nathan had to think for a minute. “Well, the girls after... _her_... I didn't really want a relationship with any of them. The guys seemed to think I was going to fucking marry them, they kept on trying to get to know the girls and keep them around. I only wanted sex, but something different to what I was having with fans and groupies. Never got a fucking look-in, so I gave up on that. It was easier to just pick up chicks at gigs.”

 

“Alright, good. I read something vague about an incident at a show, about that time? Did anything happen then?”

 

“Huh? Oh, the batshit insane bitch. Yeah, this woman showed up and aimed this weird thing at me. Murderface got in the way, and I think security took care of her in the end. She was hot, but crazy, and then...”

 

“And then?”

 

Nathan glowered down at his hands. “She was there, when the Mordhaus was wrecked. I was trying to help Toki, trying to escape a building that was on fucking fire, and she shows up. Kissed me and hit me in the balls, but I didn't care that much. In the end she was knocked out, and I could get Toki to safety. It was only later...”

 

Schreber seemed to have recognised that, at least. “Ah, do you mean that these were the events surrounding Ofdensen's sabbatical?”

 

Nathan shrugged. Thinking about finding Ofdensen bruised, punctured and limbs bent in the wrong directions made all the muscles in his shoulders tense. He didn't get angry, or sad. His brain just turned off, for some reason. Numbed him, as if really remembering was so brutal that it overrode everything in him at once. He felt empty, blank, and blinked as he stared at his feet through his hair.

 

“... okay, let's not discuss that for the moment, maybe. Why don't I give you a minute, get us some coffee?”


	5. Chapter 5

Nathan hardly heard her. He fiddled with a loose thread along the seam of his jeans, and stared at the floor until a dry small hand lifted his up. Schreber pressed a warm and comfortingly heavy mug into it. The coffee was dark, way too strong, the way that he always liked it. It was probably one of the 300s out there, they always made good coffee.

 

Nathan knew that he could have called off the session then and there, but he'd committed to this and he didn't feel upset or worried, just a little blanker than usual. He drank, and felt the caffeine rush to his head. A little more awake, he straightened his posture and set his empty mug aside.

 

“Shall we keep going, then?” Schreber asked as she put her own mug down and smoothed out her suit jacket.

 

Nathan nodded, and looked right in her eyes to prove how ready he was. She didn't seem to be effected by him, and just started right in with another prompting question.

 

“We won't touch on that again, but it seems to have been a pretty big event in your life this year. So, without thinking about it too much, tell me how you've felt about sex and relationships since then. Has anything changed, even in the smallest way?”

 

The question was tougher to answer than Nathan expected. He'd been waiting for a question like that, and he knew that she already had notes from Ofdensen and probably the others, what they had noticed. But it was really hard to think about answering properly.

 

“Hmmn. Uh, well... um... nothing's really changed. I mean, I never stopped having sex, even when... all that stuff happened. And I never stopped enjoying it. There wasn't any real fast change either, I just... it was still good, and fun, and great, but it was boring... no... I mean... annoying. I got really, really angry afterwards. Not at the girls, or myself, just mad. And I...”

 

Nathan stared off into an empty space in the corner of the room, trying to force his head around his own thoughts. “My, ah, when I came, it was as good as always, but it wasn't enough. Um, I think. Maybe. Shit.”

 

Schreber nodded slowly and thoughtfully. “I see. What you've said just now, it reminds me of what you said earlier, about the women you dated after Rebecca. You weren't quite sure what you wanted, but it was tied into sex, and it was _different_ to your previous experiences.”

 

“Uh, yeah.”

 

“Nathan, I think we've made some very good progress here today.”

 

He regarded her curiously. “We have?”

 

“Yes.” She tapped a foot on the floor and smiled. “Most of the time, there's a lot more going on inside people than we are consciously aware of. We lie to ourselves all the time, and parts of our minds conceal far more knowledge of our own actions than we can ever hope to access. It feels to me that you are on the verge of realising a deeper or greater emotional need in sex and relationships, but that you aren't quite there yet. So you can _feel_ that something is a little off when you are intimate with anyone, but you can't pick exactly why. It's leaving you frustrated and furious, and that's great news.”

 

“Shit, it is?”

 

“Yes. Because we can work with that. Now I'd like to leave it here for today. I'll organise our next appointment for sometime next week. I'll give you one thing to do, between now and then.”

 

Nathan barely stopped himself from groaning like a whiny teen bitch in time. It turned into a grunt that he hoped passed as nothing more than gruff manly agreement. Fuck, but he hated homework.

 

“I don't want you to think about this too much, or worry about it. Don't go second-guessing your own desires. Have sex, or masturbate, whatever you feel like. Or don't. Just have as good a week as you can, and I'll see you next time.”

 

Oh, well that was okay then. Nathan rolled his head on his neck a little, stretching it as he walked to the door. “Right. Bye then.”

 

When the door shut behind him, Nathan began to feel very odd. So he was completely fucked, completely normal and was supposed to change nothing whatsoever about himself. It was a nice change to the aftermath of his usual doctor-related meetings. But was was really rad was that without really doing anything other than saying completely obvious crap out loud, Nathan had 'made progress'. Even so, he took a winding path back to his room, not wanting to run into any of the band. Their dickwittery was meant well, in the name of callous and uncaring camaraderie, but he really wasn't in the mood for that.

 

She'd said that he shouldn't think about it at all, and in the room he'd been beginning to feel tired, antsy and sick of it all, but that last part of the session had him bothered now and walking straight to his bathroom mirror. Looking very carefully at the face there. He only usually looked at himself when he was getting his stage makeup ready, and actually staring at himself while alone seemed a little too private and intimate.

 

He could see his own eyes, nose, mouth. Hair hanging like it always did. He wanted to reach through the glass, grab this wanker and shake him by the shoulders. Punch him in the gut, and scream at him until he told Nathan exactly what the fuck was going on. If he already half-knew the answers that he needed, why the hell couldn't he just tell himself and start dealing with it?

 

In fact, it was fucking worse than before! He hadn't been sure why things had been wrong, but he'd had a simple way to cope: no more (or at least less) drunken orgies. Knowing that he could be _knowing_ what was wrong, finding something better, having it almost close enough to taste, made his blood run thick tight in his veins. He felt tense and full and heavy with inaction and impotence. Blue-balls of the soul. A real brutal concept, but it didn't sound like a good title for a song.

 

He'd braced his hands on the edge of the counter, and as he leant forwards and his image darkened in the mirror, his fingers curled painfully rough around the edge of the basin. It wasn't real enough to keep him grounded, nothing was. He met his own eyes, and just screamed until he ran out of air.

 

The exhaustion that came afterwards was welcome. He carried his breathlessness with him back through into his room, flopping backwards onto his mattress and letting himself drift.

 

He must have fallen asleep, because he was being woken up by a cool hand on his forehead. Nathan swatted at it with his own, but it just pressed firmer.

 

“I'm checking to make sure you don't have a fever. It's not like you, to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon.” Someone said. Someone he knew, and it was... ah, fuck. Nathan half-opened his eyes, then closed them again. He _knew_ who this was.

 

“...the fuck? Robot?”

 

“Ah, glad to see that you haven't lost your razor wit. The others would have sent me to check on you, or come themselves, but they didn't want you to think that they cared. So they just complained about not being able to record anything until I left in disgust. You don't seem to have anything serious...”

 

Nathan kept his eyes shut until Ofdensen removed his hand. Then he blinked crusty sleep away and took in the slightly darker gloom in his rooms that suggested it was after sunset. He sat up slowly and groggily, barely aware that Ofdensen was still hovering, and worrying. Hadn't worrying been ruled out for the week? Oh no, that had only been for Nathan. He yawned.

 

“That therapy thing, it was pretty, ah, intense. And I haven't slept well all week either, so... yeah.”

 

He hadn't thought that would be enough. The Robot usually pushed things way too far, but this time he seemed to be happy with Nathan's response. “I see. I'll make sure to allow more time in your interview schedules, in case you need a day off after any further sessions.”

 

“Uh yeah whatever.” Nathan tucked his hair over his left ear and was about to get up, when he noticed there was already a glass of water on his bedside table. He shrugged, and picked it up.

 

“If you were sick, you'd have needed it.”

 

Ofdensen was sounding a little defensive, despite his usual flat tone. Nathan stared down at his cup thoughtfully. There were ample opportunities to annoy Ofdensen, but the chance to really and truly fuck with him was rare. Well, the maybe almost chance. It was so fucking hard to tell what that robot was thinking, after all.

  
“I need it anyway.” Nathan said. He turned to Ofdensen, and forced as large and bright a grin onto his face as he could. “Thanks.”

 

Nathan only noticed it because he was paying attention. The tensing of fingers around a pen, and the tension in Ofdensen's face as his jaw clenched. Nathan let his face relax back into a frown, and tried his very best not to laugh or give the game away.

 

“A-are you sure you're feeling alright, Nathan.”

 

“I feel drained and exhausted, a dessicated corpse with moving limbs.”

 

“Ah, well, that's alright then. As long as you're your usual self. If you start feeling under the weather, remember to ask the staff for some supplements, we don't want your throat getting damaged.”

 

Ofdensen left, his obnoxiously normal shoes barely making a sound against the stone floor. Once the door had shut behind him, Nathan lay back down on his bed and pulled his phone out of his belt. He'd have a bruise, from sleeping with it there for hours. Hell, he'd be fucking sore from his boots, his belt, everything he'd forgotten to take off.

 

The phone barely rang before it was picked up, but all Nathan could hear in the background was Murderface having an argument over the remote with Skwisgaar. After a few muffled seconds of that noise, a slow confused voice said “Oh whaaaat? Oh yeah, I answered the phone, didn't I! He- ahm, hellooo?”

 

“Fuck, Pickles, don't pick up when you're this stoned. Give the phone to someone else, alright?”

 

“Oh Nate-an-thans. It's Nat'an! You're about to miss Weatherwoman, dood!”

 

“Oh not you dildos too! We are not watchings that bullshit, The Golden Girls is almost on!” Skwiskgaar's voice was distant but angry. Nathan could hear a scuffle begin to break out somewhere in the room, but he couldn't tell who it was between. The phone seemed to have been forgotten, and all the shouts and protests and yelps became one loud mess.

 

“Oh hi Nathans! How is yous?” Toki sounded bright and happy, he mustn't have drunk much yet.

 

“Ah, fine. Yeah, but um, busy. Real busy. I heard you guys wanted to get to work? You know you can, ah, do your bits without me actually there and I can just listen to them all later?”

 

“Oh heys, why'd I never think of that before? Hey, guys, we can go record _my_ stuffs right now! Let's go now!”

 

Nathan heard the phone drop to the floor heavily.

 

“Aw Toki, we didn't actually want to work, that was just bullshit to get rid of that douchebag. You did know that, right?”

 

Toki's voice came distant and distressed. “I didn'st know! Nobody tells me!”

 

“Ja, I tells you, only your forgets.”

 

“Fucksh you all, thish ish bullshit.”

 

Boots stomped past the phone, and Nathan assumed Murderface had stormed out of the room, and there weren't any really audible voices for a while, just distant bickering. Nathan hung up and threw the phone further away on the bed. He pulled his other hand away from his forehead to reach for the remote, and then paused. That was just weird. He didn't remember _putting_ his hand there, or thinking about it at all. But as he focused on it he knew it had been there for most of the annoying phone conversation, just resting flat and heavy on his skin. There was something wrong about all that, but he really couldn't put his finger on why.

 

Anyway, did they say that Weatherwoman was on? It was shit, sure, but Nathan needed something crappy and laughable to watch.


	6. Chapter 6

The week had gone by pretty quickly. There had been the usual bullshit that came with life. Tricking Toki into thinking that the tracks he recorded were really going onto the final album, and tricking Skwisgaar into thinking that Toki hadn't got better since last time. Fuck but his band were sensitive bitches! Then there had been the usual moodiness from Murderface over tweaks to the bass line, and the exhaustion of the awesome unpredictability of some of Pickles' drumming. Brilliant, sexy drums, but a drummer who couldn't recreate _how_ he'd got it right the first time.

 

They didn't drink for the sake of staying drunk, they drank for the sake of staying sane. Having therapy scheduled meant that Nathan had a morning of solitude, something he always needed more of these days. He enjoyed the stillness and silence of his room, and wished not for the first time that their quarters had been built somewhere further away from the studios and kitchens and employee housing. It was so... inhabited. But they were being nice to him today; the hallways that he took on his way to Schreber's room were empty. He stepped down heavily, just to hear his boots echo against stone and emptiness. Damn, it was nice to be alone.

 

Schreber was waiting patiently in the room, a slightly different colour of grey, her hair and face the exact same. She inclined her head as Nathan entered, and smiled at him. “Hello, Nathan. How are you today?”

 

He shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

 

“Good to hear. So last week I got to know you a bit better, which was great. This time, I'd like to ask you about something that might touch on the subject that made you shut down last week. Is that going to be alright? I promise to back off completely if you start to feel that way again.”

 

He didn't like the sound of that very much, but she _had_ given him space and time when things had gotten weird. “... I guess.”

 

She smiled encouragingly, and left a pause of a few seconds before she began. “You seem to have a... unique rapport with the men in your life, namely the rest of Dethklok. Previous sessions that you've all had with general counsellors have recorded a strong bond of hate and homophobia.”

 

Nathan cheered up at that, she seemed to understand completely. “Yeah, that's us.”

 

“It has certainly made your relationships far stabler than with other bands, so I can see that it's very important to you all. I don't want to disturb your equilibrium there. So when we talk today, let's keep that area of your life a little separate.”

 

“Uh, sure.” Nathan wasn't sure he felt comfortable anymore. If she _had_ to say that first, it was pretty obvious that things were going to get very gay, very quickly.

 

“Ah, I can see that look on your face. This isn't about homosexuality, Nathan.”

 

“Yeah? You could've fucking fooled me.”

 

“Alright, sorry. Maybe I didn't start us off very well. Can I try again?”

 

She had kept her clipboard in her lap, and now she raised it a little. Nathan wasn't sure if he felt safe at the moment, but he nodded anyway. It had been alright last time, after all.

 

“Thank you. So last time, you froze when I mentioned -”

 

Nathan held up his hand quickly. “Can we not say... those words? Use something else. Um, like, um... fries.”

 

Schreber tilted her head and looked a little confused. “Fries?”

 

“Uh, we uh, call something else _Hamburger Time_. So um, that wasn't quite _Hamburger_ _Time_. But we thought it was. So it was, like, when you just get fries instead.”

 

“I... see. We can work with that. So, after there were some fries on the side, it seems that was when things really started to change in your experience of sex. I'm not saying the two are directly related, but I'd like to rule out any possibility before we move further.”

 

Nathan blinked, and waited for her to explain what the fuck she meant.

 

“You like your Dad, Nathan?”

 

“Yeah, he's great.”

 

“Glad to hear it. And he was a pretty normal Dad?”

 

Nathan felt a little frustrated by the change in the conversation. “He was _my_ Dad! Yeah, he was normal.”

 

Schreber nodded calmly. “There are a lot of good things about male bonding in our society, and it looks like you've had the best of it, of all the Dethklok members, based on your psych evaluation results alone. But there are drawbacks too. Our society frowns on masculine expressions of physical intimacy. Girls hug, boys punch, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

“Right. But humans of any gender and any sexual orientation, we all need touch to fulfil our psychological needs. Not sex or romantic touching, but a different kind of intimacy. Like sharing a meal, or calling each other pussy faggots, it's a way of affirming our connections to each other. It's especially important following long periods of separation, or traumatic experiences.”

 

Nathan could see where this was going now. “Like ' _some fries on the side_ '... um.. time.” He wasn't sure if he liked this train of thought.

 

“Exactly.” Schreber smiled. Nathan _knew_ what was going to come next, and his stomach was already feeling a little queasy at the thought of it.

 

“Nathan, remember that this isn't about homosexuality, or anything real at the moment. I just wanted to ask you to think about it. If the horror of _fries on the side_ is still too great, or if life has rushed on too quickly afterwards – if you haven't had time to recover from all that – then your real problems could lie here. Guilt, feeling that your pain has gone unnoticed, or that the situation hasn't really ended yet, can all effect the experience of sex. Feelings that have nothing to do with our sexuality can bleed through.”

 

Nathan stared at her blankly. Schreber sighed, and took a moment to think herself before she tried again. Nathan was getting a headache from trying to follow her, and half of it was because she was trying to work around him.

 

“Look,” He said before she had a chance to open her mouth. “This is irritating the fuck out of me, so just skip to the part where you tell me what to do.”

 

She waited a while before she answered, and Nathan turned away to study the worn creases of his boots. He knew he'd come across as rude, and maybe even upset her, but shit he hated feeling lost in conversations.

 

“I'm not going to tell you what to do, ever, Nathan. You're always in control here, remember? But I'd like to make a suggestion to you. I'd like to test my theory, and see if your sex life is being effected by emotions from other aspects of your life. _Fries on the side_ might be impacting more on you than it ever did on Mr. Ofdensen. If it's bleeding into your other experiences of intimacy, maybe you need to connect more with him. If you can resolve your issues there, all your problems might be fixed.”

 

She was making a bit clearer sense, but, “You still haven't told me what the hell you want me to do, you know.”

 

“Ah, sorry. Do forgive me, Nathan. I want to suggest that we start referring to Mr. Ofdensen by his first name, Charles. You don't have to do it in public, but in this room here, and when you're alone in your own thoughts, I want him to be _Charles_.”

 

Nathan couldn't see how the fuck that was supposed to help, but he repeated it aloud for her sake. “Charles.”

 

“Wonderful. And I had another suggestion. I'd like to invite Charles in here for a session, and make him set aside his role as manager. I get the feeling that neither of you really had a chance to truly meet each other, when he returned. So it would give you a chance to interact. But since touch is so important, and I imagine both of you use words and social conventions to gain personal distance...”

 

“Okay, hold up. This is getting a lot gayer than you said it would.”

 

“Nathan, I'm not asking you to fellate him. Not even to hug him, if you don't want to. It's non-sexual, remember. And everyone who would be in the room would be perfectly aware of your heterosexuality. Just shaking hands, or sitting near each other. Just say that you'll think about it.”

 

Nathan could feel his fingers trembling where they lay limp in his lap. He swallowed against the fluttering panic that was rising inside him. He felt weightless and out of control. He looked at her, forced his head up with a snapping motion, so that she could _see_ the things that he couldn't explain.

 

“I can't... if I think about it, it's... shit, I...”

 

He trailed off, feeling tight and uncomfortable. Somewhere, in a fuzzy distant place where his face wasn't flushing and his breath wasn't running out, feet stepped lightly across a room. Tiny cool dry hands touched his own, and then gripped his fingers tightly. They felt heavy and real, like an anchor. He squeezed his own hands around them, drawing shuddering breaths in and out.

 

“...slowly in and out, yes, just like that. Nathan, you're doing fine, and everything's going to be okay. Just in,” Schreber drew in a very loud slow breath somewhere near him, “and then out again.”

 

Nathan did his best to follow her rhythm, but he kept stuttering, dropping back into that strange place. Bit by bit though, he pulled air in, pushed it out, and felt his heartbeat slow down in his chest. It had been throbbing so fast, he just...

 

“Nathan, are you with me now?”

 

He couldn't nod, didn't think he had that much control over his own body. “Y... yeah.”

 

“Great, you did very well. I'm going to stay with you for a little longer, and then I'm going to pour us some water from the jug in the corner.”

 

He felt more human by the second, more at home in his own skin. He realised that her hands were still clutched tight in his own, probably he'd half-crushed them. Apologetically, he loosened his grip and let her go. She seemed to know just what he was thinking. She flexed them, then wiggled the fingers in front of his eyes.

 

“See? All fine here, too. I'll just go get that water now.”

 

When he'd drunk a whole glass-full slowly, Schreber refilled his cup and dragged her chair across the room so that she was sitting near him. It didn't feel threatening at all. Her face was concerned looking, and she was exaggerating all her gestures so that none of them took him by surprise.

 

“Nathan, is this the first time you've had a panic attack this bad?”

 

He focused on the water in the cup, and bit his lip as he tried to remember. He usually did his best to forget experiences like that. “Kind of. It's... the first time it's happened like that.”

 

He didn't really have to tell her that he'd been having the – she called them panic attacks – during sex. He had the feeling she already knew. She was way too fucking smart like that.

 

“I see. I'm very sorry that I triggered it. You regained control very quickly, you handled it very well. But let's just take it easy here for a while, and then call it a day.”

 

Yes, that would be great, Nathan thought in his head. But even as he thought it he was saying “No.” and “I mean, holding hands is enough, right? I've already done that today. So I can do this, and then it'll be done.”

 

“I... only if you're absolutely sure, Nathan. One hundred percent. The second I think you're getting uncomfortable, I'll call it all off, alright? I won't let anything happen to you.”

 

What was most fucked up about it all was that he wanted to succeed. He trusted her, and he wanted to try harder, to do right by her. So even though he wasn't sure at all, he drew on his bottomless well of stubbornness and smiled grimly. “I'm sure.”

 

Schreber nodded slowly, as if she only half believed him. But she stood, and walked over to the door. In the panel for the light switch, there was the same button that was in a lot of the rooms in the Mordhaus. It was usually used to summon a Kloketeer for some job or another. They'd been used less and less since they'd given everyone slightly cheaper knockoff deathphones. When the handle on the supposedly locked door turned almost immediately, Nathan's suspicions began to build.

 

As if he had been waiting on standby, Ofdensen – ah shit, no, Charles – came into the room, tucking a key into his jacket pocket. He didn't seem to have witnessed anything though, he looked curious and confused, not worried. Nathan did his best to seem as collected and in control as he could.

 

“Nathan, Charles has been keeping himself free during our meetings, in case we needed any assistance. Charles, we've called you in here to help us with a little exercise. But perhaps it would be best if we don't explain it for the moment.”

 

She stood, and was probably about to offer Charles her seat. But Nathan wasn't sure he'd be able to survive anything slow or tentative. Against everything he felt comfortable with, and his own better judgement, he stood and strode to meet Charles near the door. Wrapped his arms around the shorter, bonier man, hooking his chin over a padded suit-shoulder so that nobody in the room could see anything that was going on in Nathan's face.

 

Fuck but he felt small and weak and vulnerable. Worse than the jitteriness that sometimes came before a huge show, or when he'd had to talk to all those arseholes about finances, even worse than contemplating his _parents_ showing up unannounced. It felt awful, until he noticed something shift and tighten against his neck. It was Charles, his muscles moving and alive; his arms reaching slowly and tentatively to hold Nathan.

 

He could smell shampoo and clothing and a small amount of very human sweat and skin. Charles' chest rose and fell against Nathan's own, and there were short small tugs on Nathan's hair when Charles moved his hands a little. Exhaling, Nathan held him even tighter, feeling the pulse of blood under skin. Charles was real, and alive, and breathing, and alive and Nathan only barely managed to turn the sob that came out into a far too breathy sounding “Fuck!”

 

Something clicked in the room, but Nathan didn't really care. He felt as if everything had suddenly, somehow been fixed. He'd grown so used to the wrongness he'd been living with, that he'd forgotten how _wrong_ it had been.

 

Charles' hands loosened around him. Nathan was worried that the world was going to intrude, that a blank voice was going to remind him of bills and obligations and deadlines. But instead a hand gently touched his head, slid a little in his hair, until warm fingertips touched his scalp.

 

“Is this about...” Charles didn't finish his sentence.

 

“You fucking cunt, I can't even get you to promise not to do it again.”

 

Charles sighed heavily, and in an awkward robot-like way squeezed his own arms tighter.

 


	7. Chapter 7

That sound that Nathan had heard had been Schreber leaving the room. It was pretty decent of her; Nathan was embarrassed enough having only Charles to deal with. Once they'd begun to separate, things had gone really weird. Nathan had felt reluctant to let go, and even more reluctant to stay there. He had missed the surety he'd felt as soon as he'd stepped away, but Charles had started straightening his clothing, smoothing his hair back into place. And it seemed that that was that. It'd be a real jerkface move to initiate another hug, when the normal order of business was already restored. And anyway, only chicks did that sort of thing.

 

But instead of reminding Nathan of his upcoming jobs and leaving, Charles gave him a pained smile, and put a static and unmoving hand on Nathan's arm.

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

“Why the fuck are _you_ sorry?”

 

“Well, I made the decision, when I came back, to try and reassure you boys by simply slipping back into old patterns of behaviour. But as your manager, I should have noticed the effect my actions were having. I should have known, Nathan. And I should have been able to fix this, without having it become such a huge and awful thing for you.”

 

Charles held the door open, and they began to walk down the corridors that led them back to the busier areas of the Mordhaus. Nathan was going to ask Charles – because he couldn't be anything other than Charles now, thanks to that fucking Schreber – why the hell he thought he should be omnipotent. Because if anyone should be omnipotent, it was obviously for a god of metal, and not a financial officer. But Charles spoke first.

 

“If you need... anything like that again, anything at all, you can call you know.”

 

Nathan didn't believe that for an instant. “What if we're on television, or you're working on one of those spreadsheet things?”

 

“Then we'll just interrupt that, won't we. We have money, we _can_ bribe people to fix our problems, you know.”

 

“Alright. Then... what if it's in the middle of a show?”

 

“Name one show in the last year that you've played the whole setlist at anyway.”

 

“Alright, so you'll do shows. What about at one in the morning?”

 

“Yes, Nathan. I'd pick up my phone and come and offer you unconditional support at one in the morning.”

 

Charles sounded exasperated, but he didn't seem too upset at all. More amused, if Nathan was guessing right.

 

“What about five?”

 

“Nathan,” Charles sighed and shook his head. “I was ready to die for you. Do you really think that I'd refuse to get out of bed and walk down the hallway?”

 

Nathan shrugged. “It's a pretty long hallway. But, um, thanks. I guess.”

 

They had reached a hallway where the sounds of Kloketeers moving about were audible. In the distance, someone screamed. They reached the turnoff for Charles' office, and stood there for a moment. Nathan wasn't sure if he was ready to walk away, but he couldn't grab onto any reason why.

 

“Well, my door is always open for you. You know that.”

 

Nathan grunted in acknowledgement and then turned and walked away. He really didn't want to watch Charles leaving. So he let his feet carry him with purpose towards a familiar destination, the living room. He wasn't sure that he was up to much conversation, so being with the band was probably a good idea for the moment. It saved him from having to think, at least.

 

There was an interesting looking documentary on the TV, all pointy ancient spears and paint-stained recreation actors doing their best to look angry. It was something they'd usually watch avidly, but instead they were arguing.

 

“Itsch fucking gay, alright!”

 

“No fucking way, it's not gay, it's pedo! Seriously pedo!”

 

“They is all deads, so can we please stops caring now?”

 

Skwisgaar was practicing with his guitar, wearing a pair of headphones and ignoring everyone. Nathan took a seat as far away from the argument as he could without losing sight of the swords being demonstrated on the screen. Eventually they all settled down, and watched someone British speak very excitedly about people killing other people. If the guy hadn't been wearing a light blue shirt. It was odd, that enjoying violence and death was a perfectly scholarly and noble calling, when you wore a blue shirt and stood on hillsides with microphones sounding eager.

 

Well, and reading a lot. That part would be a real pain the arse of course.

 

“I shctill think that fucking your younger male relativesch in the asch is _gay_.”

 

“It's child rape, they haven't dropped their fucking balls yet, duh!”

 

Toki leaned forwards thoughtfully. “Maybe... it's just insects?”

 

“Even if it ish, it'sh shtill _gay_.”

 

Everyone else seemed to allow for that, but Nathan felt the need to pitch in. “It's not.”

 

“ _What?!_ ”

 

Nathan shrugged, trying to pull the old memory from his mind. “This girl that blew me once, years ago, before we had the Mordhaus. She was a linguist, and she told me all about it. In um... Roman... lish... there are two different words for it. One of them's for fucking a guy in the arse, and the other's for a guy _being_ fucked in the arse by a guy. There's other words for girls and lesbians, but I can't remember them. I just remember it being weird, that it was only actually gay if you were taking it.”

 

They all eyed the soldiers marching across the screen cautiously.

 

“So itsch half-gay!”

 

“Sure, dood, I'll give you that. It's still totally child-rape.”

 

“Rome was Brutal. Half-gay insect child-rape, that'd make... a really fucked up song.”

 

It was easy to fall into comfortable old habits of grumpiness and insults for the evening. Nathan felt like he'd been away from home for years, and had only just got back. He couldn't ever tell the others, of course, but it did feel good to feel alright again. Nathan carried that contented feeling inside himself through dinner and a few drinks, right up to the pillow in the middle of his bed.

 

But then, with the room dark and the silence of the night, that awful feeling began to creep right back. He rolled himself up in his sheets. He hid his phone in his chest of drawers so that he stopped thinking of using it, and put a CD on. Closing his eyes one last time, he focused on the rhythm and his own heartbeat until the world fell away.

 

He sat up sharply, heart beating wildly as the tail-end of a nightmare left his mind. Scared, he tried to hang onto what he had been thinking about, but all he could feel was rising panic, an intense fear, and desperation. The shadows of the room seemed threatening, and that childish lingering terror of _something_ was there. Not anything tangible or brutal, just _something_. The threat worse than anything real could ever be.

 

Nathan was alone, and the room was cold, and... and... and there was a way to make it better. He'd felt it coming on, and had half-wanted to call Charles the first fucking time. This was a problem that was supposed to be going away, that he was supposed to be getting a handle on, and he'd just gone and fucking ignored it.

 

Hiding from himself was something that Nathan had never wanted to do. Honesty was one thing that was truly dark and awful. Seeing the crap that lurked inside. He readied himself to face up against the _something_ in his own head, and cursing himself grabbed the phone from the drawer. He dialled the number before he calmed down enough to brush the whole thing off as stupid.

 

An alert and obviously too hard working Charles answered quickly. “Hello”

 

“It's me.”

 

“Nathan, how can I help you?”

 

Nathan pulled the quilt back over himself and lay back on his pillow. Hearing Charles' voice made the shock and fear of the last few minutes fade slightly.

 

“I had a nightmare.”

 

“Oh. I assume it had something to do with me, then?”

 

Nathan couldn't really answer that. He could feel it in his bones, but he wasn't sure that a vague assumption would be acceptable to Charles. He couldn't give him any proof, couldn't remember enough to be certain.

 

“Do you need me to be there? I can put down what I'm doing right now, it's nothing urgent.”

 

Though Nathan had wanted that from the start, he felt pretty lame about it now. He wasn't upset at all anymore, and it was childish to be effectively begging for a kiss goodnight. He wasn't quite sure what to say, and before he could figure out what to do, he heard Charles hang up.

 

Shoving the phone aside, Nathan pulled the covers over his head and very resolutely kept his eyes shut. He was being a tired, scared whiny shit. So he was going to goddamned well get to sleep and fucking harden up.

 

He clenched his hands tightly, hoping that the physical pain would help him drown out the thousand confusing impulses that jumped in and out of his mind. He should call Charles back. No, he should just get out of bed and walk down the hallway. No, he should sleep. No, he should drink. Should get up for a snack. Should go and use the faint edges of memories of his nightmare to try and write new songs. He frowned into his pillow, and rolled over again, pulling the covers tighter again.

 

He was so caught up in his own bullshit that when the door opened, it came as a shock. By the time that it had been shut, and slow quiet footsteps had approached his bedside, he'd managed to loosen the covers around himself, and could recognise who had entered the room. Charles had shrugged out of his suit jacket, and was setting it down all folded and tidy on the floor. Shoes and belt and tie went down beside that. Glasses went onto the bedside table with a sharp click. Nathan wasn't sure if he felt pleased, comforted, guilty or embarrassed. But when Charles sat on the side of the bed and slid across the large mattress, none of that mattered. The very weird feelings that had been upsetting Nathan were finally beginning to clarify into something familiar that he didn't really want to think about at that moment. He said something, to keep his mouth occupied and his mind empty.

 

“It's uhhh... way too easy to forget that you're here, if you know what I mean.”

 

Charles had settled himself against some of the spare pillows, and was tugging at the covers, pulling them flat over his legs and shifting closer to Nathan.

 

“You don't have to justify anything to me. It's pretty world-shaking, to lose someone tied into your financial welfare. Every time you have a transplant, I bribe security so I can check the CCTV from the recovery room. Ah, as an example. Anyway, I _did_ say that you could call at any time.”

 

Charles spoke matter-of-factly, and that made it much easier for Nathan to relax beside him. For someone so skinny and small, Charles was really warm. Nathan inched a little closer, being careful not to touch him.

 

“Oh, for...” Charles sounded testy, but he flung an arm across Nathan and dragged himself closer until they were pressed close together. “We've already established that physical contact helps, and I didn't come all the way down here just to have you wake me up with your nightmares.”

 

Nathan's head felt heavy with sleep, but he had enough left in him to wonder about just how often Charles had been accessing the security camera footage; if he knew about how frequent his bad dreams had been. It was creepy, but a good creepy. A creepy that meant that everything was going to be alright. Charles had shifted to lean heavily against Nathan's side, when he'd thrown that arm over. His breath was light and regular, and Nathan found himself fading into the rise and fall of it.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Being woken up by Charles rolling over, then shuffling sleepily across the mattress to press back against Nathan was far better than being woken up by Ofdensen entering the room with a Kloketeer and a schedule for interviews. Nathan inhaled the welcome human smell of him, and draped an arm around, not falling back asleep, but just holding and being. That sense of clarity and almost-realisation was back, but it could wait to be dealt with.

 

Charles' back flexed against Nathan, and something was suddenly very obvious. “How long have you been, you know, awake?”

 

Charles shrugged, lifted his arm with the motion and draped it over the top of Nathan's. “A while I suppose. I was thinking about whether or not I should bring some work here tonight. I could do it every night really, until you don't need it anymore. Just in case.”

 

Nathan turned his head a little, so that he was speaking more to Charles' neck than his ear. Well, it was early in the morning, and sometimes he spoke too loud by accident. It made perfect sense. “What about... you know, er... women.”

 

Charles stiffened beside Nathan, and tightened his grip on Nathan's arm before sliding his hand onto the bed. His body leant away, weight shifted to rest against the mattress. “Well you do have a telephone. You can call me to let me know not to come – or to leave – if you plan on bringing someone back here. Or we could have someone shadow you, and he could let me know. That might be better, because if you have a night out you might forget entirely.”

 

Nathan didn't like that at all. Was Charles being deliberately stupid? “I haven't wanted to do that in months. I meant you, you fucker. I know you don't date, but everyone has casual sex, right?”

 

With a long sigh, Charles rolled away and lay flat onto his back. “Not everyone in the world has your libido. In fact, some people remain celibate all their lives. I experimented a bit in high school, but I haven't had any affairs since you hired me.”

 

That had been, ah crap, way too many years. Nathan winced; he'd have never survived that long. He'd have started coming on to the hooded employees and wanking himself raw. But it was alright if Charles hadn't. Because... Nathan closed his eyes and rolled onto his own back, trying to chase the thought. It was hard to focus too hard before that first cup of coffee. Because the alternative was that Charles _had_ been having sex with people, and the thought of that brought on that same panicking frustration that had been the start of his problems. Nathan wished he could just shut himself up, and enjoy the feeling of being well rested and slowly waking up.

 

“Okay, fine. And you don't like anyone in that way, do you?” It made sense to be asking that, if they were agreeing in a roundabout way to share a bed for the indeterminate future. But that wasn't why Nathan wanted to know. There was something else in him that was growing sharper and tighter with every second that passed.

  
“No. No, of course I don't.”

 

Nathan's gut felt hollow and empty. He felt dizzy with something uncontrollable. Charles was lying, he could hear it. That tautness in Nathan felt like it was snapping. He wasn't losing control, he had _lost_ control, because before he knew it himself he'd ended up braced on his arms above Charles, glaring down. Nathan ached, his heart was on fucking fire. And he knew what this was now. He couldn't bring himself to even name it in his own head, but he _knew_.

 

“Who?”

 

It was stupid and lame and faggoty and people were way too frail and Nathan wanted it anyway. Wanted Charles. There wasn't enough time in the world for it. And he'd fucking kill whoever this was. His hair fell into his eyes a little as his arms shook, and Charles' didn't answer.

 

“ _WHO?!_ ”

 

Oh fuck did it even matter? There was sour anger curdling in his stomach, and Nathan wasn't going to let Charles leave. He wasn't going to let anyone else have Charles. This... Nathan's hands clenched against the mattress... _this_ was his and his alone. He stared into Charles' wide frantic eyes, and lowered his head slowly and deliberately.

 

Nathan was going to possess Charles. He was going to erase any thoughts of anyone else from Charles' mind. He held himself up, hovering millimetres about Charles' lips. He wanted Charles to appreciate how deliberate this was, to know that there was still a small amount of control left. Maybe to offer him an escape, if he was really in fucking love with someone.

 

Instead, Charles licked his lips. His tongue flicked against Nathan's own, and it was all Nathan could do to hold back long enough to ask once more, just in case.

 

“Who?”

 

He felt his voice choke, and didn't notice the hand that had reached around his neck until it tightened and pulled him downwards. Charles hadn't answered, but he was opening his mouth under Nathan's own, and shit that was hot. There was more than one way to answer a fucking question, after all.

 

Maybe it was all the build-up, the confusion and tension and emotion attached to it. Maybe not. But it was the most mind-blowing kiss Nathan had ever had. The feeling of Charles' tongue alone would have been enough to short-out his brain. But there was the way that Charles had wrapped his arms around Nathan immediately, pulled their bodies together so tightly it hurt. Then when he pulled back to suck in a gasp of a breath, he remembered his own hands. He could cup the back of Charles' head, feel the novelty of short hairs itching against the skin of his palm, so he did.

 

In fact... Nathan missed Charles' lips on purpose with the next one, kissing briefly down along the line of his jaw. He really had been drawn to his neck, the smell and the realness and peace that came from feeling Charles' heartbeat. Pressing his tongue along that pulse, Nathan closed his eyes and let himself feel surrounded by Charles. Delicious heat was flooding to his cock, sweeter and faster than it ever had before. Nathan would have been happy to just float in that moment, half-hard and in utter bliss, until he died. He'd never felt so overcome by anyone before.

 

“...Ah! Ah, fuck, Nathan!”

 

Fingers clenched tight against his back, pulling at the T-shirt he'd worn to bed. Nathan swore under his breath, and pulled away from Charles just long enough to pull it off, throw it out of the way. Then, he found that he really couldn't move from where he was, kneeling and straddling Charles' hips. The sight of him was too much. Nathan's breath was thick in his lungs as he watched a flush spread across his cheeks. Slowly, Charles lifted a hand and began unbuttoning his shirt. There was no sound aside from the squeaking protest of the buttonholes and the rough edges of their breathing.

 

Then, it was done, and Charles lay spread out beneath Nathan for all of ten seconds before he started – oh fuck – started using those lean and clearly defined muscles of his to curl upwards, sit up. His arms looped around Nathan's waist, and held tight and strong. He didn't bother tilting his head for a kiss – it would be a little too awkward from that position – but just pressed his mouth open against Nathan's chest. He used his teeth, and his tongue, and applied just enough force, just enough pain.

 

 _Fuck._ It was just... too perfect. Later, he'd have the time to be in awe of it all. How strong and flexible and  _just rough enough_ Charles was. He'd never have to hold back again, never have to be cautious. Never have to be in charge of everything again. There would be nails and teeth, but right now...

 

Nathan forced himself to push backwards against Charles' arms. He just had to get enough space between them, to get those goddamned pants open. But Charles was so hard beneath him, and brushing against that was just so indecently erotic that Nathan half lost himself there. His head fell onto Charles' shoulder, hair sticky and itchy stuck between their sweat-damp skin.

 

“Ah... can't... fuck, I can't...”

 

The words didn't make any sense to Nathan when he said them, but Charles seemed to somehow understand. Bracing one arm tight around Nathan, Charles fumbled with the button, the zipper of his pants. Then the flap of Nathan's boxers. His fingers guided them together, and the contact was so hard, so electric, so maddeningly  _good_ that Nathan forgot about physics and pain. He licked Charles' mouth open, sucked until he could draw that tongue out, until he was just tasting and feeling and thrusting and aching so hard it hurt.

 

Charles' arm was burning hot against his skin. His own hands were grabbing at whatever he could reach. Shoulders, back, just closer and closer and knowing he was about to come, and hating it. It should be longer, there should be more, take more time, but Charles was  _there_ and ohgod so hard, so good, so...

 

With a muffled grunt, Nathan felt himself spasm, shuddering and thrusting sharply inside Charles' grip. Too much, too much, and he couldn't tell whether the come that was hitting his stomach, chest and thighs was his, or Charles' or both of theirs at once.

 

He sat there dopily for a while, forehead pressed against Charles' shoulder, looking down at the gruesome sight of softening cocks and a very messed up pair of trousers. His boxers weren't looking too good either. It was weird and gross, and he'd be taking shit from the guys forever for it, but it'd be worth it. He caught his breath, straightened up, and relaxed his hold on Charles a little. As he came down from the euphoria, his arms and legs – and everything really – was beginning to feel achy and cramped.

 

He watched Charles wipe his hand on his trousers, and wrinkled his nose at the sight. “Gross. Usually it's all, you know, contained.”

 

Charles gave him a very unimpressed look, and with another careful movement of muscles was lying on his back. “Sorry to disappoint, then. It didn't seem to matter to you much at the, ah, time.”

 

Nathan rolled awkwardly onto his side, stretching out his thighs, feeling sore and clumsy and inelegant. He pulled off his dirty boxers and threw them over the edge of the bed, then watched Charles lazily kick off his trousers, tug his shirt off properly and push it away.

 

“I'm not disappointed. Why the fuck would you think that? It's just, you know...” Nathan trailed off, feeling silly and floaty and tugging at one of the sweat-messed strands of hair that had stuck to Charles' forehead. “... just something dirty and brutal that I'll be getting very used to. Um... if you don't mind, I mean.”

 

“Hah! If I don't mind!?” Charles snorted and then shook his head. “No, I don't mind.”

 

They managed to lie there for a few minutes in calm, companionable silence. They didn't have to be too close. Just touching and being near was more than enough. Or, at least Nathan thought so. But Charles sat up again with a groan, and began reaching for his glasses.

 

Nathan stared, shocked and indignant. “Hey, what the hell?”

 

“Well it's almost eight, and I should get cleaned up and start getting some work done.”

 

“That's not how this is gonna work, you know.”

 

Before Charles could get up, or start talking his way out of it, Nathan lunged across the mattress and wrapped his arms around his waist. He was pretty sure that Charles would have been able to resist if he'd seen it coming – and how fucking awesome was _that_ – but at least this one time Nathan had surprise on his side. So he dragged Charles back towards him, and then flung a leg over, emphasising his point.

 

“Ah, I have the feeling that later I will have to have an argument with you about scheduling and boundaries.” He relaxed, though, getting a little breathy when Nathan pressed up against him and just rested his head close, breathed in his ear.

 

“Mm. But I've always got things set up so that I can take a few days off, in case you boys have any spectacular incidents. So I can afford to take a day off.”

 

It was a little weird, how comfortable and relaxed Nathan felt. He was used to lasting longer, and wanting something way more than a hand-job. He was used to feeling differently afterwards. But was was weirdest was that he couldn't remember _how_ he had started feeling... um.. you know, that, for Charles. He might never have noticed, and just been completely fucked up forever.

 

“Nathan? Stop trying to think too hard. I've taken the day off, and - ”

 

Before he could finish the sentence, Nathan was moving to cup his hands around Charles' head, to lean in for another kiss.


	9. Minute Every Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Extras/follow ups posted to Brutal_Business

When the alarm went off, Charles glared at it. He had a meeting in an hour – just an internal staff meeting but a meeting nonetheless – and he only had it that morning because in the previous morning's meeting he'd been too tired to make coherent sense. He had begun to suspect that he was burning the candle at both ends.

 

He'd never had trouble with it before. Whether it was being dead, catching up to him after all, he couldn't be sure. Maybe it was just the workload, playing catchup still for everything he'd missed and all the bafflingly mad plans that his boys had initiated in his absence.

 

Oh, to be honest, he knew what it was. It was that heavy warm arm that was wrapped around his waist. Holding him back against the sweat-sticky drink-pickled and reeking man sleeping behind him. Half-woken by the alarm himself, Nathan sighed and pressed closer. Nuzzled into the back of Charles' neck, his sour awful breath probably would linger all day if Charles didn't take the time to shower properly.

 

But he didn't want to get up.

 

He should have set ground rules – with himself – before letting anything too serious or involved happen. He hadn't, and it had led to this. This exhaustion and bleariness. His mind was so foggy during the day that he had trouble with the simplest tasks. He sat at his desk, just feeling drained and wishing he could stumble through the cold stone halls of the Mordhaus to stumble back into bed.

 

It made no sense at all. He'd become used to having his sleep interrupted, and to going without sleep. It was all part of the job, and the life. And if he was really tired, he'd surely be thinking of his own bed – which was right beside his office – rather than of Nathan's.

 

He shied away from thoughts like that. Charles didn't like it when things didn't make sense. Or when things approached any sort of girly mushiness. Emotional health was one thing, deluded romantic nonsense was another entirely.

 

And he had certainly never wondered if he was so tired because his heart wasn't getting enough respite. As if it was stretching out, trying to figure out why Charles was sleeping in Nathan's bed, when Nathan wasn't there.

 

Charles swore under his breath, and hefted at Nathan's arms. They tightened around him, and though Charles resisted he was almost nearly ready to allow “Nathan's death-grip” as an excuse to skip the meeting, Nathan finally let go. He rolled over and bundled the duvet up in his arms, and slept on.

 

Cold now that the blankets had been stolen, Charles forced himself through the motions of getting up. Shower, clothes, shoes. Out the door, and straight to the conference room. He got himself a cup of coffee and sat there. He'd arrived late, and everyone else was already there. The sight of them sitting in their uniforms, faceless, didn't help him focus or wake up.

 

“Right. I'm glad that you could all make it here today. And I'm sorry for the interruptions yesterday. I was...”

 

Charles stared down at the papers that he _still_ couldn't understand. They'd made a strange half-sense when he'd typed them up the week before, but the words swam before his eyes. He took his glasses off, cleaned them, tried again. Still nothing worked. His mind was warm and slow and he fought back a yawn.

 

He really didn't want to have that coffee. Didn't want to wake up.

 

“And why the fuck should I?”

 

The Kloketeer to his left inclined his head and asked cautiously, “... sir?”

 

“Ah, sorry. Just thinking to, well, to myself. Aloud. I'm afraid we'll have to postpone this meeting till another day. The boys have let me know,” (and that wasn't a lie really, just a very stretched truth) “that they are fed up with diurnal time zones. I'd like to open up applications for a proposed new time zone, Dethklok Standard Time. Proposals should include the necessary working hours for staff and financial market trading, as well as a structure that will allow the boys to feel that they are rebelling against the biological nature of humankind. I'm in the middle of trialling my own solution, but I think that by opening up the discussion to all employees above infra-red clearance we can ease the final transition and help morale along.”

 

The speech had taken it out of Charles, but it hadn't been too hard. He was more accomplished at spewing complete and utter bullshit than he was at balancing the accounts. It came naturally. Yawning heavily, Charles somehow managed to get back down the hall, undressed and into bed.

 

He hoped that what he'd initiated in his stupor wouldn't come back to haunt him, when he was rested and capable of thinking things through. He didn't have much time to worry, because Nathan rolled over, confusing the order of the blankets even further and opening his eyes a little.

 

“Hey.” He smiled slowly as Charles tugged the sheets and duvet into more-or-less the right shape. “Hey, you getting up now or something?”

 

Charles buried his head in Nathan's chest with a groan and ignored those hateful words. Nathan seemed to understand, and was just there and warm as Charles felt the world recede.

 

* ~ *

  


Nathan had never really _wanted_ a romantic relationship. That had been what had made Rebecca so perfect: no dates, no parents or lunches with friends or bullshit holiday celebrations. But when he showed up at Charles' office at eight, ready for dinner with someone who was very quickly becoming his most favourite lay ever, it was a bit of a let-down to find his not-date sitting behind a desk and laptop in a suit, looking as busy as ever. There were two plates there, covered and warm looking. So he hadn't forgotten about dinner. But he also hadn't turned off his computer, or put his notes away.

 

“Ah great. Almost done now.”

 

Nathan sat down awkwardly. He felt like he was intruding a little on Charles work. It wasn't as if they didn't see each other every night. Not as if there wouldn't be times they could set whole days aside, like last week, to just fuck and nap and eat. If Charles hadn't been able to make the time to do something properly, then they could've postponed it for another day.

 

Ah fuck, caring about people sucked complete balls. Nathan had no idea how to handle this situation. With girls, you were always wrong. No doubts, no worries, just apologise and promise to eat carpet, that solved every problem. But with Charles, there wasn't ever _wrong_ as such. Just annoyed, and upset, and disappointed. So Nathan wasn't sure whether he should apologise and leave, or stay and do his best to be sociable.

 

“There.” Charles did close his laptop then, piled papers on top of it and pushed it to the side. “Nathan? Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, fine.” It was best to think less, not more. He'd been himself for years around Charles, there wasn't going to be anything he could do that would fuck things up. Worrying just ruined everyone's fun.

 

Charles smiled. He looked preoccupied and tired. “As long as you've had less shit to wade through today than I have.” With a sigh, Charles uncovered their food. It was nothing spectacular or special, just normal dinner. From the kitchens. A seasoned steak for Nathan, and something that contained way too many vegetables for Charles.

 

Weren't things like this supposed to be special? But this was just rushed and boring and didn't feel like anything out of the ordinary. At least it was comfortable, he reasoned. And the chef always made the steaks just the way Nathan liked them, anyway. They could always organise something really awesome another day.

 

Not that they had to, of course. They weren't soppy chicks or anything after all. Though there was something to be said for gourmet restaurants, and expensive purpose-specific outfits. It lent a... what was the word? _Gravitas_ to the moment. Yeah, gravitas. And Charles would look fucking hot – really hot – in something other than his usual work suits. Something tailored a little closer, that showed the tight lean muscles of his thighs, and...

 

“Nathan?”

 

“Huh, oh. Sorry, zoned out for a bit there.”

 

Charles made a neutral sound, it didn't seem like he was pissed off. But sometimes it was hard to tell.

 

“So, you were saying...?”

 

Charles blinked and shook his head. He set his cutlery down, and rested back in his chair. “Hmm? Oh, sorry. I have no idea. I think I'm about as tired and distracted as you are.”

 

Nathan really didn't know what to say to that. He started to feel awkward, antsy. He almost wished that he hadn't showed up at all. It was pretty obvious, given the early hour, that Charles wasn't going to be done working for hours yet. Since they'd finished eating, should he go now? He had no idea.

 

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, and Nathan recognised that exhausted expression. It meant that he'd outlasted his welcome, usually. That he was being a nuisance.

 

“I'm not sure how I'll make it through the next few hours. I have to handle an issue with payroll, which will take far longer than it should. And that's before I look over the list of journalists we're considering for the special interview...”

 

“Uh, sorry.”

 

Charles dropped his hand, looking genuinely surprised. “Why should you be sorry, Nathan? Yes, it's all to do with Dethklok. But it's not as if you've done anything wrong. It's just business.”

 

“Okay, I guess.” Nathan wasn't entirely sure that was true. It was odd, in fact, _not_ being in trouble about the band's money. A strange experience. “I can still get out of your way if you like.”

 

Charles had that frustrated look again. Nathan poised his hands on the edge of the desk, ready to stand.

 

“You're not in my way, you moron. I was just trying to say that it's wonderful to be able to take a break. And you know I don't like to get too touchy-feely, but, well... it's, ah, nice to be having this time with you. The bonding chemicals in my brain are overriding the usual stress of the day.”

 

“Huh? The what-the-fuck?”

 

“Chemicals, Nathan. In our brains. It happens in all emotional, romantic, sexual relationships. We are currently, as we speak, dosing ourselves up with a cocktail of dopamine, serotonin, noreprinephrine, and a few other things.”

 

Nathan still didn't get it. He hoped that his blank and baffled look was obvious enough. Charles seemed to get it. He sighed and continued to explain.

 

“It's like we are taking drugs, Nathan. Something close to amphetamines. That's the sense of focus, pleasure, and energy that people call romance.”

 

That was... pretty fucked up. And cool. “So, like, this is your brain on drugs?”

 

“Sure, why not. Exactly like that, Nathan. It's why people spurned in love, or denied the object of their affection, can get very moody. They are junkies suffering withdrawal, still hanging out for that hit of chemical reward.”

 

“Huh. I'm not sure, you know, if that's cool or horrifying. But I _could_ be giving you a chemical reward right now, if you wanted to take the night off.”

 

Nathan tried to keep a straight face, but he really couldn't. The smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth as Charles forced out a laugh.

 

“You know what's twisted? That _that_ was actually tempting. Or adorable. And I bet you don't mind that I just called you that. That's how much your own brain fucks you over.”

 

Nathan would have been upset, or at the very least a little grumpy, but there was just this incredible sense of lightness and brilliance inside him. In his fucking heart. This sort of bullshit disgusted him, when he saw it happening to other people. It was a good thing that Charles' door was locked, that nobody else could see his face. It was probably blushing a little, given how hot his cheeks felt.

 

He was already leaning half over the desk, and it didn't take much effort to lurch forwards and press a chaste kiss to Charles' lips. Kissing Charles, you didn't really even need tongue, though of course it was nice when it happened. But even just brief and entirely innocent things like the soft firmness of his lips and the sharp surprised intake of breath was enough to send delicious sweet addictive warmth curling in Nathan's stomach. No, more than that. It was more than just arousal, now that he was thinking about it in terms of drugs. Nathan could feel it in his brain. That reward response, rushing through him. It wasn't the most intense high he'd ever had on drugs (Pickles came up with some lethal stuff some days), but it was sure as fuck better than any other. Purer, maybe. Or maybe it was just because it tasted and smelt like Charles, and ended with their foreheads pressed together and a desperate sound escaping from Charles' throat.

 

“Shit. Fuck.”

 

Hearing words like that from Charles caused another rush of that feeling, and Nathan had to sit back in his chair or fall over. Charles' hands were tense where they rested on the desk between them.

 

“And, ah, as you can see... some of these chemicals can be highly addictive.”

 

Addictive was too innocent a word for it. Addiction meant that you wanted more after you'd had it, that you couldn't give it up. Nathan wanted more _while_ he had it. There wasn't enough of Charles in the world. There wasn't a moment Nathan didn't crave more somehow. More knowledge of his past, or more kissing, more sex. More moments feeling awkward and frustrated during more evenings just like this. Even the cravings felt good, to a point. Wanting Charles Offdensen was the best fucking feeling in the world.

 

Well, maybe second best. The best feeling in the world was seeing that quirk in the corner of Charles' lips, a small barely noticeable tic, that let Nathan know what the gist of his next words would be.

 

“This work can wait till tomorrow, I think.”


End file.
